


After the Ball

by alwayssomethingelse



Series: An Affair of the Heart [1]
Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff, F/M, fill in, inbetween scenes, victorian intensity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 16:49:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8021575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwayssomethingelse/pseuds/alwayssomethingelse
Summary: A fill-in/in between scenes for the fancy dress ball in Victoria ep 3. 
Lady Emma determines to ease the tension between Lord M and Victoria.Lord M attempts to explain himself to Lady Emma, and later, Victoria.Victoria begins to come to terms with the love that she shares with Lord M, and the fact that it will never be anything more than the affair of the heart that it is at present.





	After the Ball

**Author's Note:**

> The spoken lines in italics are copyright to Daisy Goodwin, and no infringement of her copyright is intended in using them here. I merely wished to flesh out those scenes, whilst setting up my own fill-ins... 
> 
> And, of course - this is utterly AU, utterly unhistorical, and it makes no pretences whatsoever about being accurate to history. This is purely fiction Victoria and Lord M as portrayed by JC and RS.

_“I hope the Queen has saved a dance for you?”_

_“She’s busy tonight.”_

_“She will have to marry one day William.”_

_“Yes. She will.”_ Why does every other person feel the need to remind him of this? _“I just hope her husband will appreciate her.”_ With a rueful raise of his eyebrows, he turns to walk away. 

Emma does not appear to appreciate the hint. 

***

She follows him out of the ballroom, and along the corridor, careful to stay two steps behind. If ever there were a spine that spoke, it is his – rigid posture, shoulders stiff – it is evident that he has no wish to hear what she has to say. Nevertheless, hear it he will. They come to a pause in front of the portrait of Elizabeth.

“Are you going to follow me all evening?” He asks, with no little asperity. 

“Only until you listen to what I have to say.”

“Oh? And why should I do that, pray?”

“For we are old friends, you and I, William. I know you more fully than many in this house, and I am not blind. That is not to mention the fact that I also, by this point, know her majesty distinctly well enough to be able to…”

“interfere?” He cuts across, sharp. Swallows. “My apologies Emma. That was uncouth. You have something to say; well, I am all ears.” William turns to her at last. 

Emma bites her lip, eyes him, and nods.

“Orchids, William. _Orchids._ And white ones at that. What were you thinking? Were you thinking at all?” She cannot help the exasperation in her voice, though she knows it is tinged with both pity and amusement. He has the decent to colour, and stares at his feet.

“I…” He lifts his hands aimlessly, grey eyes expressing bewilderment. “I find myself at a loss, Emma.”

“That much is evident.” She sighs deeply. “This cannot go on, William. The Queen has many estimable qualities, but one thing she requires is someone to depend upon. At the present moment, you are quite the opposite of that.”

“I…cannot help the way I feel.”

“And what is that?” Again, she fixes him with a piercing look.

“She is… I. She is my Queen, and I know that anything other than appropriate ministerial devotion is completely out of the question.”

“That is very admirable, but it is not the answer to the question I asked.” 

William turns again, so they stand side by side, looking up at the virgin Queen. He sighs, deep, guttural. Then whispers, so low Emma can barely catch the words. 

“I love her.”

_Now_ she is approaching the crux of the matter.

“…and I know that it is most inappropriate. I know that it is completely out of the question. But I ask you Emma, what am I to do? She will not let me retire. We cannot afford another bedchamber crisis. It will have to come, of course – but perchance I will, in time, accustom her to the idea that I will not be her prime minister forever. However, until such a time as that, what would you have me do? I have told her I do not. I have…”

“Sent her the universal symbol of pure love, and then dressed as the rumoured soulmate of her own choice of costume…” Emma shakes her head derisively. “In short, William, you have confused the poor Queen in a chronic fashion. She does not know what to think, and it is you who must do something about that.” She pauses to consider her next words. “Surely… Surely it would be better if she at least knew how you felt? Truthfully? Then, perhaps, she could come to terms with the fact that, although existing between you, it is something which can never be? I can see you have that realisation, but it strikes me that before the Queen will find herself free to take a husband, she must have it too.” 

Silence falls between them, as William considers her words. Finally, he nods.

“Oh for a different world, Emma. One in which I were allowed to guard and cherish and solace her. For I would, with such great constancy and joy.” The words fall out unchained, and there’s a look of shock in his eyes, when Emma turns to face him, that they have even escaped his mouth. 

She sighs. “Yes. William, I feel certain you would. But you may not, at least, not in the sense that you mean. Comfort yourself with the fact – and it is fact my dear, I assure you – that you have been, and indeed may yet continue to be her guard and her solace, for the time that you have had with her. That is something, is it not?” 

“It is.” The words drip as tears, and indeed, his eyes are suspiciously bright. Emma hands him her kerchief, and feigns interest in the painting once more. 

A creak along the passageway disturbs them. Without turning around, William straightens his shoulders and passes her the damp hanky surreptitiously. 

“Thank you for your insights on this painting Lady Portman. They are of great value to me. But, if you will excuse me, I have some matters to attend to.”

“Certainly Lord Melbourne.” She smiles up at him, relieved. “I am glad to be of assistance.”

***

_”May I have the pleasure ma’am?”_ He notes with a small smile the carefully nurtured Orchids pinned to her breast.

She checks her book, a show of disinterested coolness that does not fool him for a moment. 

_“I think this one is free.”_

_“Have you danced with George yet?”_ He searches out her gaze, but the Queen will not meet his eyes. 

_“He wants to dance with a Queen. Not necessarily with me.”_ She cocks her head on one side, a little melancholy, he thinks. 

_“Well he’s more of a fool than I suspected.”_ He looks down at her perfect face, her delicate features that are already etched in his mind; in his heart. 

Finally, she meets his eyes, a small smile playing about those lips. _“I wasn’t sure if I would dance with you tonight.”_

_“It would be unkind for Elizabeth to refuse her Leicester.”_ He chides, injecting gentle humour into his voice to cover the hurt of the jibe. A deserved pain, but that does not abate the sting. 

_“Leicester was her companion?”_ The Queen’s face is avid now, her gaze fixed on his eyes. 

_“He was. He did have a wife…”_ He pauses, gathering his wits, recalling his intentions. _“…but then she died.”_ He holds her just a hair’s breath closer, leans his head towards his Elizabeth. Somehow it is easier to talk of his own emotions through the guise of long dead characters in history. 

_“But even though he was free, they never married?”_ There seems to be, he thinks, two separate conversations occurring between them. One spoken, the other purely between their eyes. It is the latter that both fills and tears his heart. 

_“I think both he and the Queen understood that they were not in a position to marry…”_ He has attempted to keep the spoken words light, but now the heaviness of his heart fails him, and despite his best intentions, William finds his voice dropping with pain _“…whatever their inclinations.”_ He holds her gaze in a moment of time that lasts an eternity. There, he has done it. He has admitted his love for her; to her. Perhaps not in so many words, but the stricken expression on her face tells him that she comprehends now. 

He cannot bear to dance anymore, and, it would appear, nor can the Queen. Sensing he has given her perhaps too heavy a burden to take in whilst in his presence, William steps away, his heart still beating heavily against his ribs. So heavily, he thinks, that surely the other dancers can hear the rhythmic pulse of ‘I love you. I love you. I love you.’ He bows his head and turns away, blinded by the experience. 

***

She needs space to think. Victoria has had enough of Balls. It would appear that they serve only to fluster and shake her serenity, not to mention her heart. But duty has called, and she has spent half an hour dancing with a variety of characters, many of them unsuited to her tastes. However, it is now past midnight, and perfectly acceptable for the Queen to quietly slip out of the Ballroom. She waves Emma’s silent offer of companionship away, and receives a gentle nod in return. Oh, if only her own mother could be as understanding as dear Emma!

Victoria slips ghost like down the corridor. She’s not entirely certain where it is she is going, but she does so silently, stepping into dark alcoves when she sees figures ahead. Whether by chance or design of fate, she finds herself in the State Room, pausing in a cool breeze coming from the open French windows. As her eyes become accustomed to the lower light, she notes a shadowy figure out on the balcony. Her heart beats a little faster as she recognises the tell-tale tousled hair of her very own Rook. 

Without a sound, she moves towards Lord Melbourne, coming to a halt when her arm is an inch from his. 

“I quite thought you had retired for the night.”

He jumps, jerks his head round and down to gaze on her. 

“My apologies ma’am! I did not realise I had company.”

A smile twitches at her lips, but she says nothing for a moment. Then, “I did not mean to disturb you. As a matter of fact, I did not even realise that my feet were taking me here, until I stood over there and saw you lurking in the shadows. I could have left you be, to be sure, but…” She gazes up at him, smiles more broadly to see the tenderness with which her words are welcomed. 

“I am always glad of your presence, ma’am.”

The breeze dies down, and in the stillness, she can hear his breath, the rustle of cloth as his chest rises and falls. Is it fact, or only her fancy, that she can also feel a warmth from him as she stands so close? 

“I wish you were always beside me, like this, Lord M…” She pauses, and he is about to respond, but stops when she places a hand on his arm. “I know, _now_ , that it cannot be. Not like this. But I think, at last, we understand one another, and I thank you for that.” She gasps on an ache that threatens to choke her. “I believe, in my heart, I will always know you as the one who brought love, and laughter, into my life. And even if it can only be this, even if it can only last this short time, well then, I should rather have that than any contrived, convenient plan that my relations would shoehorn me in to.” She moves forward, to lean on the railings, speaking out into the night. “I feel that my heart, and yours…they resonate together in harmony. And they can continue to do that in whatever constraints that society…or relatives… put upon them.”

He is silent for a time. Victoria can feel his presence behind her, can see, in her mind’s eye, his wry, soft smile; can sense an ease between them that has not been there since before her visit to Brockett Hall. He steps forward, and places a hand lightly upon her collar bone, finger tips caress through soft silk for a split second, and, before she is fully aware of what is happening, he has dipped his head and placed his lips on her shoulder. She can just feel their weight through the slashed fabric of her costume, before the kiss is given. But even though he raises his head to look out on the city skyline, he keeps his hand in place, and she inclines her neck to lean against him. Her heart near bursting, Victoria beams out in to the unknown. Tomorrow will bring its own worries; she may not be able to carry the full warmth and joy of this moment forwards, alive and precious and sustaining – but even an ounce of this love will be her solace in those interminable moments when she remembers that their duty comes before their hearts. 

“My dear Lord M.” She whispers, and hears the crease of his lips as he smiles. 

“Ma’am.” And then, the soft pressure on her shoulder; the reassuring touch of warm brocade against her cheek, is gone, and as silently as she arrived, he leaves.


End file.
